


Swing and a Prayer

by whitchry9



Series: Avocados and Avengers [5]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: First Aid, First Meeting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Medical, Secret Identity, Team Up, he worries okay, matt is a superhero big brother, matt's mothering reaches critical levels, peter is a child really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-02 10:36:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4056835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitchry9/pseuds/whitchry9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt has his first team up with Spiderman. Until the guy nearly goes splat, and Matt has to make sure he doesn't die, because that would look bad in the news.</p><p>(Also, he finds out that Spiderman is like, twelve. Seriously.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt that can be found here: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1296.html?thread=1540880#cmt1540880

Matt had never expected to meet Spiderman.

 

Not just because he wasn't entirely sure he existed, but also because the guy seemed to hang out mostly in Queens, and surely didn't venture into the Kitchen, where Matt spent most of his time.

 

But then Spiderman had swung, quite literally, into his life while he was on the east side of the island, where he rarely ventured. Matt was looking for information about a new drug that had sprung up, and production appeared to be coming from Midtown East.

 

That's where Spiderman ran into him. He wasn't kidding about that. If it wasn't for his senses, he would have had some spider splat to clean off his new suit, and he would not have been happy about that. The guy didn't seem to be very experienced.

 

“Sorry!” he squeaked, having managed to slow down and regain his balance to drop into the alleyway next to Matt. “I didn't see you there. Your costume is dark, although not as dark as the other one was, and anyway I'm just sorry.” He tilted his head. (Matt wondered what his costume looked like. Ridiculous, probably, although Foggy would point out he really couldn't judge, not just because of the blindness, but because of his own.)

“You're not usually around here, are you?” he asked.

“No,” Matt agreed, taking stock of the other man. He was tall and gangly, certainly spidery enough, and kind of twitchy. Could have been excitement, or maybe just too much caffeine. His heart rate was rapid, which could have been from the exertion, but if the guy had superpowers or something, which Matt suspected he did, that tended to be cancelled out. But then again, maybe the guy was like Matt, normal body, with just some special skills. After all, he'd heard that the guy had made the web shooters himself, a fact which Tony Stark was pretty impressed with.

“But then, you're not usually around here either, are you?”

Spiderman shook his head. “I don't usually cross the river,” he admitted. “But something happened-”

Matt held a hand up. “You don't have to explain to me. I'm sure you have your own secrets.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Hey, if you ever want to do a team-up, just let me know!”

Matt smirked. “You in the phone book?”

Spiderman snickered. “Yeah, although I'm not sure if it's under v for vigilante or s for superhero. Or maybe even m for menace.”

“The guy at the Daily Bugle really isn't fond of you, is he?” Matt grinned.

Spiderman scoffed. “Nope. He kind of hates me.”

Matt nodded. “At least I've gotten the media back on my side. Sort of.”

Spiderman made a sympathetic noise. “Yeah, that was awful. Fisk seemed like a real dick. I'm glad you caught him.”

“Me too.”

Matt gestured down the alley. “I should be... getting back.”

“Oh, yeah. Same,” Spiderman added. “See you around then?”

Matt grinned. “Sure. And if you're ever in trouble, give me a call. Here, my burner number.”

He scrawled the number for his burner phone on a scrap of paper he pulled from a bin behind him.

“Oh. Thanks man.”

Matt nodded. “And nice tech,” he added, pointing to the guy's wrists.

“Oh. Thanks!”

Matt grinned at him and leaped to a nearby ladder, swinging himself up to a balcony, and on to the roof above. He could hear the guy's heart beat behind him, still a bit high, but Matt figured it could be in awe.

Probably not, but he could dream.

 

* * *

 

He didn't get the information he was looking for that night, but he did get to meet Spiderman, and Foggy was going to be super jealous.

 

(He went out the next night and got the info. He told Foggy a few days later and he nearly fainted.)


	2. Chapter 2

The next time Matt met Spiderman, it was after he called him for help.

 

“Hey, I know I said this could be for a team-up, and it sort of is, but I'm in East Midtown and there are... I don't even know, robot bugs attacking me, and can you please come help?” he blurted, without so much as saying hello when Matt answered the phone.

“Oh. Sure. I'll be there as soon as I can. Robot bugs you say?” Matt asked, already pulling his costume on. Spiderman was lucky he called when he was at home and not doing anything.

“I don't know, they have eight legs.”

“Really?” Matt paused before tugging his mask on. “Sounds like they could be spiders.”

“Daredevil,” Spiderman groaned, “Please come help.”

“I'm on my way,” Matt told him, and hung up.

 

He figured it wouldn't he hard to find a human spider fighting robotic spiders. Although, he supposed they could also be octopuses. Octopi?

Matt didn't care. More than one octopus.

 

* * *

 

It was ridiculously easy to find him.

He just followed the trail of broken and immobilized... bug things. Some of them appeared to be stuck to the ground, probably with the web stuff the guy had in his wrist shooters.

 

At the end of the trail, Matt found Spiderman, fighting off a dozen of the metal creatures, and barely holding his own.

Matt took out three of them with one spin, and sent a salute up to Spiderman, who was swinging between buildings.

“Thanks man,” he called.

Matt took out two more of the robot things in response.

The rest of them were dispatched fairly easily, with Matt smashing, and Spiderman sticking them to every available surface.

When the last one was destroyed, Matt tilted his head up to Spiderman. “That all of them?” he called.

“Yeah,” he called back down. The guy was up at least a couple of stories, and as far as Matt could tell, he was clinging to the side of building like an actual spider. Weird.

“I'll be right down,” he added, jumping from the side of the building and extending his wrist, probably to shoot more web stuff.

It didn't come.

 

Matt didn't see him fall, of course, but he heard him, and that was bad enough. Spiderman landed on the ground not far from him, bones cracking with the impact.

Matt ran to his side, where the guy was lying on the concrete, still alive and breathing, but not conscious.

“Whoa, Spiderman, you okay?”

There was no reply, of course. His breathing sounded okay, and his heart rate was good. Matt didn't really want to move him if he'd damaged something important though. That whole spinal injury thing.

Still, he couldn't leave the guy in an alley while he went to get Claire, or undress him before calling the paramedics, or something.

 

So instead he listened carefully as he moved Spiderman's body into his arms, and when he didn't hear the sound of any vertebrae grinding against each other, he figured it would be better to move him than not.

 

That's when he took off for Claire's place.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Claire was back in town, thankfully, and Matt considering calling ahead, but his hands were a little busy holding Spiderman, and he figured that dropping him would be the last thing the guy needed.

She was home and everything, albeit sleeping, when Matt showed up at her window and knocked.

 

“Jesus Matt,” she hissed, coming to open the window for him. She stopped. “Who the hell is that?”

“What, isn't the costume enough? It's Spiderman,” Matt grinned. “Can you fix him?”

Claire sighed. “I don't know why you're talking about his costume when you can't see it. Set him down on the floor, carefully.”

Matt grunted as he set the other man down, taking care with his head. Claire knelt down next to him with her kit, and began checking him over, feeling at his neck for a pulse, and palpating his skull.

“Dammit Matt,” Claire muttered. “You have to stop doing this. I'm not a mob doctor and-”

She paused suddenly.

“What? What is it Claire? Tell me he's okay.”

“I... took his mask off.”

“And?”

“Jesus Matt, he's just a kid. I'm serious. Seventeen, maybe eighteen. How is he doing this?”

Matt's heart sank in his chest. That explained the rapid heartrate, the twitchiness, the inexperience. If he was just a kid, he shouldn't be doing this. How did he not notice?

“Matt,” Claire hissed. “Are you listening to me?”

Matt shook his head. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Jesus, pay attention. I was asking what happened?”

Matt shrugged. “He fell. I think he ran out of the web crap in his wrist things. He fell from about... I don't know, fifty feet?”

“Jesus,” Claire hissed again. “How is he still alive? Did you just carry him over here?”

Matt nodded. “He's really not that heavy. I guess it's because he's a child.”

Claire muttered to herself. “Okay, well I need your help getting his costume off.”

“Does it look ridiculous?” Matt wondered, pulling at a sleeve. “I feel like it looks ridiculous.”

“It does, a bit,” Claire admitted, gently removing the top. “How did he fall though? Did he bounce into things on the way down? Fall into a dumpster like you did?”

“I'm not entirely sure,” Matt sighed. “I wasn't exactly focusing, I just knew that he fell. I think he might have bounced off a wall on the way down, but he landed on the pavement.”

Claire shook her head. “He shouldn't be in this good of shape.”

“He's okay?”

“Well, he's not fine, but he's way better than I'd expect. I don't feel anything major. Cracked ribs, a hell of a lot of bruising, scrapes, cuts, oh, his leg is broken. Displaced fracture. I'll have to fix that. Other than the head injury, which is probably why he's unconscious, he's doing pretty okay.”

Matt sat back on his heels. “Huh. I guess that makes it easier for me to kill him when he wakes up and I yell at him for doing this when he's an underage highschooler.”

“You're not killing him,” Claire asserted. “Not here anyway.”

Matt sighed. “Fine.”

“I need you to help me with his leg. I'm guessing he has some sort of healing factor, and that's why he's not dead, but I don't want it to heal in the wrong position.”

“Okay. So?”

“Hold him,” she ordered. “Hands on his hips. This might wake him up, and if it does, he won't be happy. I'm going to pull on his leg to put the bone back in place.”

“Right,” Matt muttered. “Just hold him down. I can do that.”

“I'm pulling on three,” Claire told him. “One, two, three!”

She yanked, and Matt heard the edges of bones scrape against each other.

Spiderman, and Matt was really going to have to find out what his name was now, gasped with pain.

He shot upright to a sitting position, and Matt wasn't sure if he could move his hands from the kid's hips to push him back down.

Thankfully, Claire was apparently done with his leg, and moved to his torso to calm him down.

“Hey, hey, it's okay. Lay back down, okay.” She gently pressed him into a lying down position.

“What the hell?” Spiderman groaned.

“You fell,” Matt told him. “And you were unconscious. I was worried, so I brought you here. This is Claire. She's a nurse, and she's trustworthy.”

Spiderman groaned again. “What did you do to my leg?”

“You had a displaced fracture,” Claire told him, grabbing his wrist to take a pulse. “And now you just have a fracture. Am I right to guess you have some sort of healing factor?”

Spiderman nodded. “Yeah, it should heal up in a couple of days.”

“Well, it would have healed wrong if I hadn't yanked on it. With Daredevil's help, of course.”

Matt waved. Spiderman waved back.

“Now,” Claire continued. “What else hurts? A healing factor isn't going to help if you're bleeding out internally.”

Spiderman thought for a minute. “The leg hurts a lot. My head. I guess I must have hit it. Some ribs feel broken?”

“They are,” Matt added. “I can hear them.”

“Dude, that's weird. Even I can't hear them, and my hearing is good.”

Matt grinned. “Mine is better.”

“Okay boys,” Claire muttered.

 

Right. Matt had some yelling to do. “So, what do you think you're doing?” he asked, aiming for a stern tone. He might have succeeded.

“Um. What?” Spiderman asked.

“How old are you? Seventeen? Eighteen?”

Spiderman looked away and muttered something. Nothing that was words, because Matt would have heard it.

“Again please,” he growled.

“Seventeen,” he muttered.

“Right. Seventeen. Great. Do your parents know what you're doing?”

Spiderman scoffed. “No. They're dead. Do yours?”

Matt paused. “No, they're dead too.”

“Sorry,” he sighed.

“I'm sorry too,” Matt replied. “Now, are you going to tell us your name, or does Claire need to make one up for you? She's pretty good at it.”

Matt was pretty sure the kid scowled at him.

“Peter,” he grumbled.

“Peter,” Matt echoed. “Okay Peter. You're seventeen. Your parents are dead. Who are you living with? Grandparents, foster parents, other relatives? I know the system pretty well, Peter.”

“My aunt,” he muttered.

“And I'm assuming she doesn't know about... all this?” he asked, waving a hand in the air, gesturing to Peter's damaged body and torn suit.

“Of course not! How could I keep her safe if she knew!” Peter protested.

He winced at the sudden movement as it jostled his ribs.

“Just take it easy,” Claire warned. “I don't care about your healing factor. You need to rest.”

“I'll take him home with me,” Matt told her. “Keep him for the night. Send him to school in the morning if his leg is well enough.” He smirked.

“Shut up,” Peter muttered.

“Right,” Claire declared, sitting back on her heels. “I'm going to splint your leg, and glue together a few of those cuts, but other than that, you're pretty good.”

“But I'll heal,” Peter whined.

“Wow, you really are a child,” Matt muttered. “Let her. Just be lucky she's not stitching you.”

“And the healing factor is exactly why I'm not stitching you up. Lay back. Matt, get him a pillow to cushion his head.”

“Matt?” Peter asked. “Is that your name?”

Matt sighed. “Yeah, it is. Thanks for that Claire.”

She shrugged. “You're taking him home with you. I assumed that would entail telling him your identity, and everything it includes.”

“I hate when you assume things,” Matt muttered. “Especially when you're right.”

Claire made a happy sound, her hands busy as she glued the cut on Peter's head shut.

“Now, I don't have any real splint material, but I can make do. Matt, will you grab something sturdy we can use? I don't know, check in the kitchen I guess.”

“Right,” Matt said, getting to his feet. “Splint material.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

He checked the kitchen, and discarded the cutting board as being too wide and not long enough. Peter was really gangly.

“Claire, I don't think this was the best job for me,” he calling, feeling through drawers for appropriately shaped objects.

“Dammit, you're right. I forget,” she sighed, getting to her feet. “I'll do it. Grab the rolls of gauze out of the kit so we can wrap his leg to whatever I manage to find.”

 

Matt sat down at Peter's side again.

“Forget what?” he asked. “And you know you can take your mask off now. If you're really taking me home with you, which by the way, sounds really creepy, then I'm going to see your face eventually, so you might as well do it now, cause it's probably more comfortable.”

Matt shrugged. “It's not bad, but I guess you have a point.” He didn't make a move to take it off though.

“So?” Peter continued, as Matt dug through Claire's medical kit.

Matt shrugged. “You have a point. That doesn't mean I'm going to listen.”

Peter scoffed. “You know you're one stubborn bastard, right?”

Matt grinned. “It's kind of my defining feature.”

“All right boys, no more fighting,” Claire announced. “I found cardboard that will do nicely for a splint. Matt, you find the roller gauze?”

“I think?” he guessed, tossing her packages. “Is this it?”

Peter laughed, wincing again as it jostled his ribs. “Sure, for burns. Can you not read?”

Matt shrugged yet again. “Apparently not.”

Claire dug through the kit and pulled out the right packages.

“I've got it bent into the right shape, I just need you help getting his leg into it without too much pain. And I sure as hell don't want to displace it again.”

Matt nodded, and accepted the cardboard she handed him.

“You know,” she mused, “With you around, it might be worth it to invest in some fibreglass, just so you can't remove my temporary casts on your own before you're healed.”

Matt scoffed. “I could remove it if I wanted to.”

“I doubt that,” she huffed. “Okay, I'm going to lift his leg, you slide the splint underneath. Ready? Go.”

Claire gently lifted, and Matt gently slid, but he could still hear the change in Peter's heart rate that indicated the pain he was in.

“Sorry,” she apologized, so there must have been something on Peter's face that indicated the pain, because Claire couldn't hear heartbeats. Or maybe she just knew.

 

They wrapped Peter's leg to the splint, and Claire checked him over one more time.

“I'm worried about your head injury,” she admitted. “You were out for a while.”

“I think it's related to the healing factor. My brain sort of taps out while my body figures out what to do.”

Matt frowned. That didn't sound very scientific. Of course, neither did being bitten by a spider and getting superpowers, or anything other than dead. And he really couldn't judge, so perhaps Peter was being truthful.

 

“How are you guys going to get back to your place?” Claire asked Matt.

“Oh. I hadn't entirely though that through,” he admitted.

“Mhm,” she hummed.

“How about we dress Peter in normal clothes, then I can just carry him back, and it will look like I'm rescuing a civilian,” Matt suggested.

“I don't want to be carried,” Peter whined. “I'm fine.”

Matt was pretty sure Claire shot him a scathing glance, because he shut up rather quickly.

“You're basing this plan on the assumption I have clothes here that would fit him,” Claire pointed out.

Matt tilted his head in her direction. “And do you?”

“...yes,” she muttered. “I'll be right back.”

She got to her feet and headed to her bedroom.

 

“So are you guys... dating?” Peter asked.

Matt shook his head. “It didn't work out.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, the superhero lifestyle makes it super hard to have a girlfriend. Or friends.”

Matt knew that all too well.

 

“Here,” Claire said, tossing something at Peter. He caught them, of course. Enhanced reflexes. “They'll probably be a bit big on you, because you're kind of like a stick insect, but it's better than what you're wearing.”

“Hey, I made this costume myself,” he protested, sounding pretty defensive.

Matt tilted his head. “Really? You can sew.”

“It's a handy skill,” Peter growled, daring Matt to say something else.

“I'm sure it is. I just never learned. Except for stitches. Doesn't really translate to fabric that well though,” he mused.

“Dude. Weird,” Peter muttered.

Matt shrugged.

“I'm guessing you're opposed to me cutting the rest of the costume off then?” Claire asked him.

Peter sighed. “Yeah, a bit. Can I just sort of... throw the clothes on over top?”

Matt wasn't sure how Peter was still dressed, since he'd pulled at the sleeves and removed his shirt, and he thought Claire had taken off the pants. But maybe it was a one piece suit? He had no clue, and wasn't really looking to find out.

Peter pulled the sweater on over his head, wincing as the movement jarred his ribs. Claire helped him get the sweat pants around the splint, and pulled up to his waist. They were stretchy, from what he could tell, which helped.

 

“Thank you Claire,” Matt told her. “I'll try to stop bringing broken superheroes to you because you're not a mob doctor.”

“Damn right I'm not. You keep an eye on him, okay? No weight bearing for a few days at least. I don't know how good his healing factor is.”

Matt nodded. “Of course.”

 

After Peter made sure that he was presentable to go out as a civilian, rather than Spiderman, Matt heaved the kid into his arms and got ready to go.

“Bridal style,” Peter groaned. “Oh god not bridal style.”

“It's the best way to carry out and make sure your leg doesn't get jostled.”

“Doesn't mean I have to like it,” Peter grumbled, crossing his arms and pouting. Well, Matt assumed he was pouting, cause he couldn't really tell. But he was a teenager, and that was a thing they did.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

He took the stairs down this time instead of climbing down the balcony.

Matt took back alleys to his place, stayed next to walls of building and away from streetlights. He couldn't otherwise tell if he was in shadows or not. He could ask Peter, but he didn't really want to.

 

He did take the back way to get into his apartment, climbing to the roof of the building next to it and hopping across. It was slightly more difficult with Peter's weight in his arms, but it wasn't very far.

 

After climbing down the stairs into his apartment (and skipping the final step, which he still hadn't fixed) Matt remembered to switch the lights on. He set Peter down on the couch and headed to the kitchen for a drink.

“Water?” he asked.

“Yeah, please,” Peter replied.

Matt tossed him a bottle, and he caught it again. Matt admired his reflexes. He wondered just how good they were.

“Do you want pain meds? You should take something to help you sleep. I've got some demerol, and some Tylenol 3.”

Peter grimaced. “Pain meds don't really work that well on me,” he explained. “Along with the healing factor, I've got a much faster metabolism.”

Matt considered it. “You could take a couple. I don't really need them, and if I did, I could get more.”

“You've done a lot already,” Peter hedged.

“I don't want you to be in pain,” Matt said firmly. “The demerol is stronger. I think you're supposed to take two at a time, so take four. If that doesn't work, I won't make you take anything else, but I'd like you to try. No allergies?”

Peter shook his head, and Matt almost missed it.

“Okay. I'll grab those. Drink up,” Matt ordered, heading to the bathroom and his medicine cabinet.

 

He felt the labels for the one marked demerol. Foggy had found a braille label maker somewhere on the internet, and had taken great pleasure in labelling literally everything of Matt's.

Matt peeled off the label before throwing the bottle to Peter.

“Thanks. How long has that billboard been there? Isn't it annoying?”

Matt shrugged. “Long enough. And no, the light doesn't really bother me. Which is why I'll be sleeping on the couch, and you'll have the bed. I want you to actually sleep, not get distracted all night by the lights.”

Peter turned towards the billboard. “Well, it is bright. And it doesn't bother you?”

Matt sighed and looked in Peter's direction.

“No,” he said pointedly. “It doesn't.” The kid still wasn't getting it though, so Matt just sighed and headed to his room to discard his costume in favour of sleep clothes. Maybe once the kid could see his eyes he'd clue in. He didn't bother with his glasses, since those would only make it that much more obvious in the middle of the night.

“Do you want to borrow clothes to sleep in?” Matt called. “I've got extra sweats you can wear.”

“Nah, the ones Claire gave me are good. So how did you meet her?”

Matt kicked his costume to the side of his bedroom in lieu of actually putting it away.

“She pulled me out of a dumpster,” he admitted, heading back to the living room to sit across from Peter. “I was a bit banged up at the time.”

“Dude, no kidding. No healing factor, right? You must get beat up all the time.”

“I do all right,” Matt defended. “Did you take the pills?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Yeah,” Peter told him, shaking the bottle. There were indeed four fewer pills in it. “Thanks for that, Matthew Murdock.”

“Right. My name is on the label. Should have thought of that,” he muttered.

“Duh,” Peter said. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure. Oh. Just a sec, I've got something you can use.”

Matt headed to the closet, not the one containing his chest, but the other one. He knew he had a pair of crutches in there somewhere. It was just a matter of locating them in the mess. He really needed to clean it.

“Aha,” he announced. “Got them.”

“What?” Peter asked as Matt emerged.

“Crutches,” Matt told him, handing them to him. “Use them. When you go to school, tell everyone that you sprained your ankle and it'll be okay in a few days.”

“And what am I supposed to do about this cardboard monstrosity?” Peter asked, gesturing towards the splint.

Matt grinned. “We can take it off in the morning. The bones will probably be knitted together enough that they'll heal in the correct position, but you can't put any weight on it. If you rebreak it, I will just send you to the hospital.”

“Aw, come on man,” Peter groaned.

“Nope. Claire worked hard on fixing you, and I won't have you going and messing everything up. No weight bearing for at least three days.”

Peter huffed something to himself that Matt didn't bother to listen to.

“You don't want to make Claire angry,” Matt told him.

Peter considered that. “No, I don't,” he sighed. He heaved himself to his feet and headed towards the bathroom. Matt could tell it put a strain on his ribs, but he also knew that Peter wouldn't ask for help. The guy was too proud.

Kind of reminded Matt of himself, if he was gonna be honest.

Despite himself, Matt kind of liked him.

 

Recalling what Peter said about his accelerated metabolism, Matt figured he probably needed to eat in order to give his body the energy it needed to recover.

Which meant he had to scour the fridge for something edible. He didn't keep much food in his house, and shopping was difficult, so unless Foggy dragged him out, his fridge usually contained just the necessities.

His cupboard however, contained cans of soup, helpfully labelled of course, courtesy of Foggy.

Matt grabbed one of tomato and one of chicken noodle, pulling out a pot to heat them up in. He'd ask Peter which flavour he preferred.

 

“Dude, half the lights in your bathroom are burnt out.”

“Huh,” Matt replied. “Tomato or chicken noodle?”

“What?”

“What kind of soup?”

“Um, chicken noodle I guess. Are you making me soup? At this hour? It's kind of late for that, don't you think?”

“You need to heal, and to do that, your body needs energy,” Matt told him, placing the pan on the stove and dumping the soup in. It wouldn't take long to heat up, and Peter could be asleep in as little as twenty minutes.

“Okay mom,” Peter drawled. Matt assumed it was accompanied by another eye roll. Peter parked himself on the couch, elevating his leg on the new coffee table Matt had gotten only the week before.

“Don't bleed on that,” Matt warned. “It's new.”

“Dude, it's red. What difference would a little blood make? Besides, I'm not bleeding.”

Matt didn't know it was red. Foggy had failed to mention that fact. “Still,” Matt told him, stirring the soup. “Are the drugs kicking in?”

“Too early to tell. Also, I might have gotten a little blood on your towel. I rinsed it out as best I could though. Sorry,” he apologized.

“I thought you said you weren't bleeding.”

“My leg isn't. My head was. I was trying to look less like I was in an epic battle, thus the towel.”

Matt shrugged. “I don't really mind. How are your ribs doing?” he asked. He could still hear them with each breath Peter took. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination, or if they sounded better already.

“Sore. But nothing I haven't had before. The worst time was when one of them broke in two places and punctured my lung. Worst feeling ever.”

“Oh, I know,” Matt muttered, rubbing absently at his chest where Claire had stabbed him with a cannula when his lung had collapsed.

“How could you tell they were broken?” Peter asked.

“I told you, I could hear them. The ends... well, they grind against each other when you breathe. Crepitus is the technical term.”

“Your hearing is that good?” Peter asked. He sounded genuinely interested.

“Yeah,” Matt replied, turning the stove off, and carefully pouring the soup into two bowls. He delivered one to Peter with a spoon, and went back for his before sitting in the chair across from him.

“Is that your superpower?” he asked skeptically. “Super hearing?” He blew on a spoonful of soup before putting it in his mouth.

“Nah,” Matt grinned.

Peter was apparently waiting for an expanded answer, but Matt wasn't going to give him one.

“Okay, fine, don't tell me. Hey, thanks. I'm not sure if I said it already, but thanks for coming to rescue me from those robot things, I'm gonna call them octobots, cause I think they were octopus robots, cool right? And thanks for scooping me up off the pavement when I almost became a spider pancake and thanks for taking me to your friend Claire and patching me up and taking me home and carrying me, even though it was bridal style, and thanks for this really great soup from a can at... I'm not actually sure what time it is. Don't you have a clock anywhere?”

“Nope,” Matt said cheerfully. “And you're welcome.”

“No tv either,” Peter noted, apparently doing a more thorough inspection of the room than he had when he arrived. “Dude, your walls are totally empty. Not an art fan?”

“Not really,” Matt admitted. “And it's nearly 3:30 am. You need to sleep.”

“Yeah,” Peter sighed. “I know. I've got class tomorrow, and a Spanish quiz.”

“I'm pretty good at Spanish, if you ever need help,” Matt offered.

“Aw, really? That would be awesome. I'm not very good at it.” He slurped at the last of his soup.

“No kidding. You're too busy being a hero. But now, to bed.”

He waited as Peter got to his feet with the crutches, and followed behind him at a safe distance.

Peter paused next to his bed. “You sure about this?” he asked.

“Yes,” Matt said firmly. “The only reason you're not in it yet is because I'm not going to push a broken guy.”

Peter obeyed, moving the splint carefully with his hands. The pain didn't seem as bad.

“Those pills working?”

“I think so. It's more distant now, you know?”

Matt nodded. “You really going to go to school tomorrow? You could take a day off, you know.”

“Nah,” Peter yawned. “I can't afford to miss much. I'm in my senior year, and my marks need to be good if I want to get into a good college.”

“Alright,” Matt said dubiously. “What time you need to be up for?”

“Oh god, probably 6:30 if I want to get there on time. I don't have the best track record.”

“Right. I'll set the alarm for then. You get some rest,” he told Peter, making sure he was under the blanket.

He headed out of the room, pulling the door shut on his way.

“Hey,” Peter called.

Matt turned back. “Yeah?”

“Can you turn the light out.”

Matt hadn't even noticed it was on, of course. He wasn't really sure why Peter wasn't suspicious yet, but the guy was hurt and medicated, so Matt gave him some credit.

“Sure,” he said, flicking the light off. “Now sleep.”

“Sure mom,” he muttered. It sounded like he was falling asleep already.

 

Matt smiled, and headed back to the couch. He put the bowls in the sink and settled down under the blanket he kept on the arm of the couch for just this purpose.

 

He very deliberately did not set an alarm. Peter could do with missing one day of school, considering his injuries.

 


	6. Chapter 6

He forgot about his own alarm, set for 8:30 the next morning. He was thankful it didn't startle Peter out of bed, which could have been bad for his healing bones.

Matt raced into the bedroom instead and shut it off, but the clock still cheerily announced the time. Damn that speaking clock.

“Dude, what was that?” Peter groaned. He'd rolled a lot in his sleep, and was wrapped up in the blankets. His hair was impressively on end. He paused, his heart rate picking up.

“Is that the time?” he squeaked. “Why does your clock talk to you?”

“Yes, that's the time. You're not going to school today. And it talks to me because I'm blind.”

He figured the shock value of that would distract Peter from the time for a few minutes.

“What?” he squeaked again. His heart rate only increased.

“I'm blind Peter,” he told him patiently.

“But... you're a superhero.”

“Not very super. Not always a hero. More vigilante.”

“Don't argue semantics with me. You're blind. How?”

He was gaping at Matt now, and combined with the hair, Matt was sure it would have made an impressive image.

“I still have all my other senses. Frankly, I'm a little insulted you asked.”

“Oh my god, that was rude, wasn't it? It was rude, I'm sorry.”

Matt laughed. “Peter, I was kidding.”

Peter rolled so he was on his back, and sprawled his limbs across the bed. “Oh my god,” he sighed. “Daredevil is a blind superhero.”

“And Spiderman is a dumb kid. So what?”

Peter grunted at that.

“Appearances can be deceiving,” Matt reminded him.

“I can't believe you're mothering me this much,” Peter moaned. “I need to go to school. If I leave now, I might be able to make it in time for the Spanish quiz-”

“Stop,” Matt told him, pressing a hand to Peter's chest as he tried to get up. “You're not leaving until you eat something and I check you over again. After that, you can go to school if you want, but I suggest you rest, and then go home. Your aunt has to be worried about you.”

Peter shook his head. “She knows that sometimes I stay out late, and she thinks I have a school newspaper meeting before school. As long as I show up for dinner tonight, she won't be worried.”

“She's your aunt. She always worries,” Matt informed him.

Peter sighed. It didn't seem to pain his ribs as much. Matt listened as Peter breathed in and out. No more crepitus. He was downgraded to old ships.

“Matt?”

Matt forced himself back to the larger world. “Yeah?”

“What were you doing? I called your name a couple of times, but it seemed like you didn't hear me.”

“I was listening to you breathe,” he admitted. “Your ribs are better. Not more grinding, just sort of... creaking.”

“So you do have super hearing. Does that make up for the sight? I bet you get asked that a lot, right? Except maybe not about the super hearing. But I bet a lot of people ask you if your other senses are enhanced, right? I'm rambling, don't listen to me.”

Matt grinned. “Yes, not entirely, yes, true, and yes. Also, you're fine.”

Peter considered his responses. “Cool. So, super hearing. Super taste too? Super scent? Is there such a thing as super touch?”

“All my senses are enhanced, except, of course, the blindness thing,” Matt grinned. “But we have more senses than just the five we think of. My balance is improved, my sense of where I am in space and the position of objects around me. They all help with me navigating, but they certainly don't make up for not being able to see.”

Peter sighed. “Yeah, I guess not. That must suck. Do the super senses bother you? Cause mine do, and they're not even as strong as yours.”

“For sure,” Matt agreed, sitting on the end of the bed. He took care not to jostle Peter's leg, which was thankfully still in the splint. “But I've gotten a lot better at... tuning them out, I guess. I let them in when I need them, like when I'm fighting, or listening for broken bones.”

“That's awesome,” Peter admitted. “I'm still mad at you though.”

“Of course. What about breakfast? I can make french toast. Oh, no wait I can't, I don't have bread.” He thought about the rest of the contents of his kitchen, which were severely limited. “I might have toaster waffles in the freezer?”

“Just as good,” Peter grinned.

 

* * *

 

Matt did indeed have toaster waffles. He set about making them while Peter got dressed in clothes from Matt's closet. “You have too many suits!” he called.

Matt only shook his head as he tried to determine what kind the waffles were.

Peter finally settled on a dress shirt and the pair of sweats that Claire had given him, which apparently fit better than any of Matt's pants could.

 

Matt served him two plain waffles on a plate. “I don't even have syrup,” he apologized.

Peter waved a hand. “Eh, I'm good.” He paused. “I just waved at you. I'm guessing you didn't see that, since you can't, you know, see.”

Matt laughed. “No, I didn't see it, but I sensed it. Like I said, my other senses compensate somewhat.”

“But not entirely, obviously,” Peter pointed out, his mouth already stuffed with waffles. “Like, screens, right? Even light? Can you see light?”

Matt shook his head. “I'm completely blind, so no light perception. My eyes are essentially useless.”

“Which is why the billboard doesn't bother you. God, I'm stupid.”

Matt grinned. “I was wondering why you didn't clue in to that. I gave you some leeway because of the pain meds. Did they help, by the way?”

“Yeah, they took the edge off. I slept pretty well, considering I was in a new space.”

Matt was pretty sure Peter had finished his waffles already. “Do you want more? The rest are in the freezer. You can make them. I'm sure not going to eat them. I can't remember the last time I had breakfast at home.”

Peter hesitated. “You sure?”

“Yeah, of course. Actually, I'll just make them for you. Don't get up.”

 

Matt popped the waffles in the toaster and sat back down. “Sorry I don't have much in the way of food. I'm not really big on shopping.”

Peter shrugged. “I don't mind. You don't have to do this for me you know. I'm definitely grateful, but I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, but the thing is, you don't have to.”

Matt was pretty sure Peter rolled his eyes at that.

 

The waffles popped up, and Matt retrieved them for Peter, who ate them just as quickly as he did the first batch. Matt finished his first serving in the time it took Peter to finish his second.

 

“I have to go to work soon,” Matt told him, “But I want to check you over first. Can you sit on the couch for me?”

Peter sighed loudly, like it was a big deal, but he did as Matt asked.

“Prop your leg up on the couch too, so I can check the splint,” Matt added, removing the plates to the sink. Last night's bowls were still in there. He had to remember to wash dishes when he got home.

 

Matt removed the splint, just like he said he would, and gently felt the way down Peter's leg. The bone had knitted itself together enough that there was no movement, but Matt wasn't confident in its ability to bear weight yet. He'd already established his ribs were healing, and that was most of the injuries he'd acquired.

“How's your head?” he asked. “Dizziness, blurred vision, memory problems, confusion, headache? Any symptoms of a concussion?”

“Nah. Like I said, I heal quick.”

“You know I can tell if you're lying, right?”

“Really? How?”

“Heart rate mostly. There are other signs too, but that's the main one.”

“But I'm not lying,” Peter pointed out.

“Yeah,” Matt agreed. “But I just wanted you to know that if you tried, I would be able to tell.”

Peter snickered.

 

“You still have your costume on, don't you?” Matt realized, finally placing the feeling of the material on Peter's leg.

“Um, yeah. It was kind of trapped under the splint last night. The bottom half is still on anyway. It's in two pieces.”

“You were the one who didn't want us to cut it,” Matt pointed out.

“Yeah, because I would have had to sew it back up.”

Matt shrugged. “Take the costume off and put the sweats back on. I don't care if it's underneath your clothes, you shouldn't go out wearing it.”

“How else am I supposed to change in an emergency?” Peter grumbled, but he was pulling at the fabric anyway.

“I'm not the best to ask,” Matt replied.

Peter shimmied into the sweats that Claire had lent him.

“I'm going to just wrap your ankle back up with the gauze, alright? And I think I have some ace bandages. I just worry about you forgetting, and putting weight on it.”

“Yeah, sure,” Peter sighed.

 

Matt retrieved the ace bandages from his first aid kit, and along with the gauze that had been used on the splint, wrapped Peter's leg and ankle back up again.

“It just makes me feel better. You can probably take it off tonight or tomorrow, but leave it on as long as you can. Got it?”

Peter nodded. Matt tilted his head. “Oh, I just nodded. Sorry.”

Matt grinned. “It's alright. Listen, I have to go to work. You can leave, you can stay, it doesn't matter to me. But use the damn crutches, and please rest.”

“Where do you work?” Peter asked. “And before you consider lying, remember that I know your name, and can just look you up.”

“I'm a lawyer.”

“Huh,” Peter said.

 

Matt left Peter with strict instructions not to put weight on his leg for another two days, because he really would know (and worse, so would Claire), and went to work.

 

Foggy was interested about the reports of Spiderman and Daredevil doing a team-up, but didn't get a chance to speak to Matt about it, since they actually had work to do, and Karen hung around the office all day.

 

When Matt finally made it home, Peter was nowhere to be found.

Well, at least he'd taken the crutches. That was a good sign.

 


	7. Chapter 7

There were no sighting of Spiderman for the next four days, which Matt was pretty impressed with. Not only had he taken the two days Matt had ordered, but two more to allow his leg to heal. Or maybe he was just busy with Spanish homework. Who knew.

 

The week after, Spiderman got on his radar, and not in a good way. The idiot was taking on a crew of four on his own, a bunch of idiots that called themselves 'the wrecking crew'. He managed to take them down, but Matt was sure it took a toll on him.

 

So the next night, he headed to Queens early and waited for Peter to show himself.

 

He appeared around 9:30, stopping a mugger, and Matt followed him at a distance for a couple blocks. He wasn't going to interfere, not unless Peter needed help.

 

They went like that for a while, Peter nabbing another mugger, and a pair of idiots that were drunk and fighting in an alley. Then he took to the rooftops, swinging between buildings with the web shooters that he'd apparently refilled since his last excursion.

 

Peter paused on a rooftop two buildings over from Matt. He sighed.

“I know you're following me,” he announced, just loudly enough that Matt's sensitive hearing could pick it up.

Matt sighed, and closed the distance between them.

“What I want to know is why,” Peter continued.

Matt shrugged. “I worry.”

“Dude, why.”

“Because you're just a kid, and you're out here alone doing things that would scare most grown adults, fighting criminals when you should be at home studying chemistry or something, or going out with friends, or even just doing nothing.”

“Don't bring my age into this,” Peter huffed.

“You can't even vote yet, but you're dressing up like a spider and fighting bad guys,” Matt said gently. “That's not a normal teenage activity.”

“These days...” Peter muttered.

“I worry,” Matt repeated firmly.

“You realize that you're more likely to get hurt than me?” Peter pointed out. “Last I checked, you had no healing factor, and oh yeah, you're also blind.”

Matt sighed. “Yes, but I'm an adult and can make my own decisions.”

“Matt, someone close to me once told me, with great power comes great responsibility. I'm just trying to live up to that responsibility.”

There was something desperate in Peter's voice that Matt recognized.

“I don't want you to get hurt out there, or worse, die because you're up against something that's too much for you. And you really don't want your aunt to find out because you're dead or hurt. Believe me, I know.”

Peter tilted his head. “I know that,” he said softly.

“Then you have to promise me you'll be safe.”

Peter nodded. “Look, Matt, I'm not going to stop. We both know that. I can't. And we both know that you can't keep following me every night, because you need to be there for your people. You can't keep coming over to Queens every night. Stay in Hell's Kitchen. Take care of your neighbourhood. And if I need help, I will call you. I did it before, and I'll do it again if I have to. That's how I'll stay safe. I know what I can do, and I know when I'm in over my head. Okay?”

“Damn you,” Matt muttered. “Teenagers aren't supposed to be that logical or good at talking their way out of things.”

“Dude, I'm getting very good at lying. Where do you think my aunt thinks I go every night?”

Matt shrugged. “Have you ever thought as a career as a lawyer?”

Peter scoffed. “No way man. Science all the way.”

Matt grinned. “Worth a try.”

Peter shook his head, but he was grinning too. “Go home Matt. Take care of your neighbourhood. I got this one.”

Matt watched him swing off, admiring the elegance of his web shooters yet again.

He shook his head, sighing. “Kids these days.”

 

Matt headed home. Peter was right; it needed him.

 


End file.
